


Put Me to Your Lips

by Mireille



Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 04:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17053496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Steve wants Tony to consider the consequences if someone (if Steve) takes him seriously.Tony thinks those consequences are rather the point,darling.





	Put Me to Your Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Set between Ultimates and Ultimates 2, pretty soon after the end of the former.

****

_Civilians._

That wasn't entirely fair, Steve told himself. Some of the civilians on the team weren't bad to work with--Barton and Romanoff didn't really count, after their years working for SHIELD, but Jan was certainly a team player, and when Thor came down off his high horse to pitch in, he was willing to let Steve, as the leader, make the final decisions about tactics. 

Honestly, it was just one specific civilian who was a problem these days. 

One, specific, infuriating civilian, who didn't believe in "planning" or "strategy" or "following orders," because "he had an idea". It hadn't even been in the heat of battle; Steve would have understood if they'd been facing another massive global threat, and Tony had seen a potential advantage and taken it. No, Tony had sat there in the briefing for a perfectly routine mission, listened to everything Steve had to say about how they were going to approach the target, and then just went and did whatever the hell he wanted, because _he had an idea_.

He might be a genius--he definitely was a genius--but Tony had a lot to learn about being part of a team. Especially part of a team that had a definite command structure. 

He had a lot to learn about showing a little respect to your team leader, as well. Steve knew this wasn't the military. He didn't expect--didn't want--salutes, or to be called "sir." "Steve" was fine. "Cap" was fine, for that matter. 

"Darling," on the other hand, was disrespectful, and Steve wasn't going to stand for it. Not in the field, at least. 

Tony could do--and say--whatever he wanted most of the time, even if Steve didn't like it much. But when the Ultimates were deployed on a mission, he was going to have to learn to listen to Steve, and he was damn well going to learn to address Steve--and the others, for that matter--a little more respectfully. It was bad for the team's image, and heaven knew that the team's image couldn't stand too much more damage. Betty Ross had done what she could, but Hulk's rampage and the mess with Hank Pym hadn't been forgotten. And that was before taking into account that a lot of people thought the Ultimates program was a giant waste of their tax dollars to begin with. 

The thing was, Steve didn't know how to make Tony listen to him. They weren't in the military. There was no KP or other punishment detail to assign him. If Steve tried, Tony would only laugh, pour himself another drink, and ignore it. Steve couldn't really boot him from the team, not for this; Fury had hand-picked him, and it would take a lot more than Tony going maverick to get Fury to agree to remove him. (And as for Tony's attitude in general, Fury had undoubtedly known all about it before he'd brought him into the Ultimates program. There was really nothing Steve could do about that, at least not officially.)

Besides, it wasn't like Steve really wanted him off the team. He was too damn valuable, and the only problem was that Tony knew it. 

Sometimes, it seemed like Tony respected him--respected the Captain America from the books and movies he'd grown up with, anyway--but apparently not enough for him to just do what he was told. Or even to try to change Steve's mind about their tactics; Steve wasn't arrogant enough to believe that his way was automatically the best way. He was willing to listen, but Tony didn't even try. 

And not enough to get Tony to stop taking stupid risks because he didn't believe that planning was all that important to the success of a mission. 

But Tony did seem to have at least a little respect for him, so the only thing Steve could think of was to sit Tony down, man to man, and try to convince him that being part of a team meant that sometimes he had to make decisions based on what the team needed, not just what Tony himself thought was a better idea. 

The team needed a clear chain of command in the field; not that Steve was opposed to them using their best judgment when unforeseen situations arose, but someone had to be directing the mission. And the team needed a positive image; needed to look like professionals out there, in order to gain the public trust. 

Tony was an intelligent man, after all. If Steve presented him with the facts, he'd surely understand that Steve was right.

And, because Steve wanted to show Tony that _Steve_ respected _him_ , he was coming here, to Tony's home, this evening rather than bringing the matter up in front of the entire team. He'd have been willing to bring up the "not following directions" aspects of the situation in front of everyone, possibly, but not the other. Not when Tony was likely to be embarrassed when Steve pointed out exactly why Tony's affectations were so bad for their image. 

That was why Steve was here, waiting on the steps outside Tony's front door, wondering if he'd made it clear to Tony that he was coming by tonight. Wondering if Tony had even been listening to him when he said it. 

Apparently he had, or at least, Tony was home; it took a little while, but he opened the door himself, which Steve hadn't really expected. Wasn't that what he paid Jarvis for? (Actually, given the way Jarvis spoke to Tony most of the time, sometimes Steve wondered what he did pay Jarvis for, but that was beside the point, and the butler's jabs didn't seem to bother Tony anyway.) 

Tony looked tired, or maybe that was just the visual effect of the bare feet and the silk robe hanging open over his shirt and trousers. “Hey,” he said, turning a bright, artificial smile onto Steve. “Sorry I kept you waiting; it's Jarvis's night off.” 

That was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. The last thing Steve wanted to do was to give Tony's butler more ammunition for his frequent insulting comments about his employer. He wasn't here to humiliate Tony. He _liked_ Tony, despite how frustrating the man could be. 

He let Tony take his jacket and hang it in a closet, then followed him through into a room that Steve guessed would be called a study, or a library, or something of that nature: comfortable, if expensive-looking, seating; bookshelves; an oversized desk with a computer set up on it. And, of course, a full bar; Steve wondered if there was a room in Tony's house without at least a liquor cabinet. 

“Drink?” Tony asked, going straight to the bar and pouring something from a decanter into a cut-glass tumbler. “This is an excellent bourbon, but I've got anything you want; name your poison.” 

“No, thanks.” Steve remained standing awkwardly next to a bookcase until Tony dropped into an armchair and took a long, appreciative sip of his drink. 

“Sit down, darling,” Tony said, waving toward the nearest chair to his own. “You look like you're trying to work your way up to telling me that my puppy's been hit by a car, and I don't even own a dog.” 

“I do have something to talk to you about,” he admitted, “and you aren't going to want to hear it.” 

“No,” Tony agreed, “I'm probably not.” Then he frowned, studying Steve's expression. “It's not Natasha, is it? Has something happened? I know she and Barton were heading out on a job for Fury this afternoon--”

“No,” Steve said quickly. “As far as I know, they're fine.” Then again, Tony's interest in Romanoff might be another angle Steve could use, one final attempt to get Tony to see reason. “But if something had happened yesterday, it would have been your fault.” 

“My fault?” Tony repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I was nowhere near Natasha during that op. Not to mention the fact that I'm not the one making the decisions in the field.” 

“You should have been,” Steve said. “Near her, I mean.” Not making the decisions--God, no, that would be a disaster. Tony's genius didn't extend to combat strategy. But Tony should have been on Natasha's left flank, and yet, he'd been nowhere in the area. 

“And yet,” Tony said, “I wasn't. Because I saw a better way of incapacitating the guy, and I took the opening when I saw it. No casualties, he survived for SHIELD to question, and we were all home in time for the cocktail hour.” 

“I thought every hour was the cocktail hour for you.” 

Tony considered his--now nearly empty--glass for a moment, then gave Steve that practiced smile again. “An excellent observation. Shall we say, in time for dinner, then? And do sit down. It's giving me a crick in my neck looking up at you.” 

Steve felt his hands clenching into fists at his side. He made himself sit down, though, in the chair Tony had gestured toward. This was supposed to be an informal chat between colleagues. Between _friends_ , possibly. He wasn't trying to intimidate Tony. “Damn it, Tony, what the hell were you playing at?” he snapped. “You could have gotten yourself killed!” 

He expected a protest, an argument, maybe even mockery. What he didn't expect was for Tony to simply shrug. “Oh, yes,” he said, draining the last of his drink. “We wouldn't want that. It'd be such a shame if I lost a single second of the bright future ahead of me. I'd hate to think I might miss out on all that.” He paused for a moment, and this time, even a stranger would have seen how false his smile was. “Especially the progressive cognitive decline; pity I'll be too busy drooling in a corner to appreciate the new experience.” 

Steve flinched at that. Tony almost never reminded them why he'd become Iron Man in the first place; he wasn't even completely certain how many of the others knew. Thor had been there the night Tony had told him, and Fury presumably knew everything, of course. And Natasha probably knew, since she and Tony were getting close, but no one ever mentioned it. Tony certainly didn't. 

“If you really felt like that,” he said, “you'd have given up when you got the diagnosis. Instead, you built the suit.” 

Tony didn't answer him, just got up and refilled his glass. He didn't speak until he'd returned to his seat. “Well, now that you've delivered your little lecture, shall I see you out, or will you be staying to dinner?” 

Steve was still reeling; he knew Tony was dying, but hearing Tony talk about it in that flippant way was stoking his irritation up into white-hot anger: at Tony for being so casual about it, at the unfairness of it all--when dangerous little creeps like Banner were all but indestructible, and men like Tony were going to die far too young--and above all, at the fact that Tony was wasting the time he _did_ have in showing off and jeopardizing missions. 

His throat felt tight, but he snapped, “I'm not finished.”

“Oh, really? More scolding? I must have been a very naughty boy, then.”

"That's what I want to talk to you about." 

Tony smirked at him. "Really? It seems it's my lucky day." 

"Could you be serious for once?" 

There was a brief pause, and then the smirk faded. "Yes, all right. What, exactly, do you want to talk about, other than the fact that I'm not good at following orders, especially when I think you're wrong?" 

"Your behavior. Our image. I know things have changed since my day--" unfortunately, there was no way for Steve to escape that knowledge-- "but still, it's not good for the public opinion of the team when you go around acting like-- like _that_."

Did Tony sit up a little straighter? Did his eyes narrow? Steve couldn't quite be sure. "Like what, darling?" 

"Like that," Steve repeated. "Calling me 'darling.' Making cracks about being a naughty boy. People are going to notice." 

"People have already noticed," Tony said. "Didn't you see the sketch about us on _Saturday Night Live_? And it's not as if this is a new mannerism. I call everybody 'darling' or 'sweetheart.' It's just a habit."

"I've noticed," Steve said dryly. "Don't you realize how that looks to people?"

He raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I imagine it looks like I'm too rich to give a damn what they think of me, but I'm guessing you've got something else to say." 

Steve sighed. He wasn't sure if Tony was being intentionally obtuse, or if he really didn't grasp what the average person had to think of him. "The dressing gowns. The way you call everyone, even men, 'darling.' The comments you've made on national television about disappointing women. Even the things Jarvis says about you in front of guests. You don't realize what that all adds up to in most people's minds?"

"Most people don't see me dressed like this," Tony pointed out, running his hand over the front of the dressing gown to smooth it. "And while I admit I've thrown some big parties, I don't think 'most people' know how my butler talks to, or about, me, either." 

"Just answer me," Steve said. Maybe Tony really didn't realize. The whole idea was ridiculous, after all; maybe it was so ridiculous that Tony hadn't ever contemplated it. And if so, then quite apart from what it might do to public opinion of the Ultimates, as Tony's friend, Steve ought to let him know, before it caused a problem for him--with Natasha, for example. Steve didn't think she and Tony had any sort of formal relationship yet, any more than Steve did with Jan, but that was clearly where they were heading. 

Tony shook his head. "You tell me. What are you trying to say about me?" 

"Damn it, Tony, you know what I'm saying. People are going to start thinking--if they don't already--that you're some kind of a queer." Steve grimaced. He didn't like to say it. He didn't particularly like to think about it. It wasn't that he didn't think that kind of man could be a good person, or brave, or anything else. It was just that it was so obviously untrue in Tony's case, and why would anyone want people to think that about them if it wasn't true? 

He really shouldn't have been surprised when Tony laughed. "You actually managed to get the word out," he said. "I'd been wondering if you'd manage. Though, helpful turn-of-the-millennium tip, calling someone 'a queer' isn't okay any more." 

Steve filed that away, though he didn't ask Tony what the currently-acceptable term was. "Thanks, but you're missing my point again. Is that really what you want people to think about you?" He rubbed his palms on his pant legs, awkwardly; this wasn't how he'd envisioned this conversation going, at all. "Is that what you'd want _Natasha_ to think about you?" 

Tony took another drink, and then shook his head, smiling. "You really brought out the big guns for this argument, didn't you? But as it happens, the lovely Natasha and I may have gone out a few times, but it's early days yet. And if she's likely to be upset by gossip and idle speculation, she's picked the wrong man."

"It looks bad," Steve repeated. "Whether they're justified or not, it makes people think you're weak. And that means they'll think the Ultimates are weak, all of us, because you're part of it." He knew Tony wouldn't see things that way. Not even _Steve_ saw it that way. But a lot of people--especially people who were already looking for reasons to call Congress and demand that the Ultimates program be defunded--would see it that way. 

"So you think I need to butch it up a little more, for the sake of the team," he said. 

"I wouldn't have put it like that." 

"No, I'm sure you wouldn't. I'm also sure that's not the real reason why you brought the matter up. You want to know, don't you? If it's true." The smile widened, and Tony eyed Steve in a strangely unsettling way. 

"It doesn't matter if it's true or not," Steve said. "Besides, I know it isn't." 

"Do you?" Tony said. He finished his drink, but, to Steve's relief, set the glass on a nearby table rather than getting up for a refill. "And how did you reach that conclusion?" 

"It's obvious," Steve scoffed. "Natasha--"

"I'm no historian, but I feel fairly confident that they'd invented the concept of bisexuality in the 1940s." That smile again, like they were both in on a secret--except Steve had no idea what it was. "And if that was what you wanted to know, all you ever had to do was ask, sweetheart." 

Steve wished he'd agreed to that drink, even if alcohol didn't really affect him any more. It would give him something to do with his hands. "I didn't. I don't." _And I don't believe you_ , he added silently. Tony was bluffing.

"I don't believe you," Tony said, startling Steve for a moment at the echo of his own thoughts. 

"All I want," Steve said, "is for you to think about what might happen if someone took you seriously."

"If someone did?" Tony leaned forward in his chair. Were his eyes always that blue? That intense? Steve shook his head slightly, trying to clear his mind of irrelevant thoughts. "Or if _you_ did?"

That was when Steve realized what Tony was playing at. He was trying to make it seem as if he didn't care at all what anyone thought of him. But Tony was a ladies' man, and--irritating tendency to defy orders aside--a hero. He couldn't possibly want anyone, not even Steve, to think that about him. He had to be bluffing. 

Two could play at that game. "What if I did?" He tried to relax his posture a little, to look less like Tony's team leader and more like a friend. 

Oh, yes, Tony was certainly bluffing; he got up and filled his glass again. Steve frowned; three drinks in such a short time? On top of whatever medication Tony undoubtedly had to take? But bringing that up would just provoke an argument, and this would be left unsettled for yet another day. And besides, Steve didn't want to bring up the cancer. Didn't want to see that brittle smile again as Tony tried to make light of it. Not today. 

"Oh, if you did," Tony said, turning back toward Steve and taking a sip of his bourbon, "then I guess that would leave me no choice. I'd have to--"

_Back down_ , Steve thought. Tony would have to back down, to admit that he was only joking. And then maybe he'd start to think twice about how he spoke to Steve. Going his own way in the field was a separate issue, and one Steve had no illusions that Tony would be giving in on, at least not any time soon. But at least one part of it could be settled today. 

Tony didn't return to his chair; instead, he took a few steps past it, until he was standing directly in front of Steve. "Actually, I suppose I'd have to do this," he murmured, and then there was a hand under Steve's chin, tipping his face upward, so that Tony could bend down and kiss him. 

Steve was frozen in shock, but only for a second. Then his brain kicked in again, reminding him that Tony was certainly bluffing. A kiss wasn't very much, and a kiss that Tony would be certain wouldn't go any further, and that he knew Steve would never tell anyone about, would be a small price to pay to score points against Steve.

Well, Steve had already committed to beating Tony at his own game, and that reasoning could apply to him as well as to Tony. Steve kissed him back, noting the surprise that registered on Tony's face as he responded. Then Steve closed his eyes, reminding himself that the mechanics of kissing were the same whether it was Jan (or Gail, but he tried to not let himself remember Gail that way; it made things much too awkward) or Tony. He deepened the kiss, letting his tongue slip through Tony's parted lips, and heard a sharp intake of breath as he did. 

Tony would be backing away in shock any minute now. He'd turn the whole thing into a joke, but maybe then he'd realize what he was letting himself in for with the way he spoke to people. Someone else was going to make the same assumption Steve did, one day, and it wouldn't be Steve, who wasn't interested in taking this any further once Tony admitted he was bluffing.

It seemed that Steve had underestimated Tony's commitment to this, though, because instead of pulling back and wiping disgustedly at his mouth the way Steve expected, Tony just… yielded. Clutched at Steve with his free hand, his mouth opening eagerly to Steve's kiss, and then, finally, Tony did take that step back. 

Steve looked up, ready to be magnanimous in victory, when he realized that all Tony had done was to set his drink down on the table. "Dropping my glass would be such a waste of good booze," he said, and this time, when he smiled at Steve, Steve couldn't detect any falseness in it. Tony was probably laughing at him, but at least it was genuine. 

Even in this ridiculous situation, Steve couldn't help but be glad of that, though his happiness turned to confusion as Tony reached for him again, pulling Steve to his feet. (Not that he could have, if Steve hadn't cooperated, but Steve was curious enough as to how far Tony would go with this absurd pretense that he was willing to cooperate.)

"We'll be more comfortable over here, don't you think?" Tony said, leading Steve over to the sofa and motioning for Steve to take a seat. Steve did, at one end of the couch, and Tony sat next to him. Not just "on the next cushion," but right next to him, his thigh pressed against Steve's. 

"Tony--" Steve began, and then stopped himself. 

Tony was watching him, amusement lighting the blue eyes. "Something you want to say?" 

If Steve backed down now, Tony's behavior would continue. Tony would continue putting himself at risk for humiliation, putting the team in a bad light. So Steve only smiled, and shook his head, and concentrated on not tensing up when Tony leaned forward, the better to go back to kissing Steve. 

It was clearly time to raise the stakes, so Steve put his arms around Tony, pulling him closer. Tony responded with--obviously exaggerated--eagerness, running a hand over Steve's chest, resting the other on Steve's knee, then sliding it further up, stopping midway up Steve's thigh. 

Steve had to take a deep breath, reminding himself that it was normal to react to Tony's touch. After all, he'd been trying to keep Jan in mind to make his kisses seem more realistic. It was perfectly logical that, if he was thinking about her, when Tony touched him, he'd react as though it was her.

Not that he and Jan had really gone very far. They'd been taking things slow, both because Steve wanted Jan to understand that he respected her and because she was still getting over Hank. This, in fact, would be the point in the evening where, if it had been Jan here with him, Steve would have said goodnight and gone home. 

But this wasn't Jan, and the entire point was for Steve _not_ to be a gentleman. It was the only way to make Tony realize that he couldn't fool Steve. Couldn't convince Steve that it was really all right with Tony if the world thought he was a pansy--was that word still all right? Probably not; it had never been very kind, after all. 

But then Tony kissed him again--deep and slow, Tony's tongue exploring the contours of Steve's mouth--and the hand on his thigh moved upward again, to the top of Steve's thigh and then over, pressing hot and heavy against Steve's groin. 

_No _, Steve thought. No, not even to score points against Steve would Tony ever consider going that far. And not even to get Tony to see things his way could Steve ever let him, either. (What would Jan think? How could he look at himself in the mirror afterward?)__

__Tony must have noticed the way Steve tensed up, because he pulled back again. "Ready to admit that I'm not bluffing, darling? Or do I need to keep proving my point?"_ _

__Steve shook his head, but he wasn't sure which part he was saying no to. Tony was pushing this much farther than he'd ever expected, but that didn't mean Tony wasn't still just trying to win. On the other hand, maintaining that this was all a bluff might mean that Tony would go farther, and that was… unthinkable._ _

__Steve was certainly trying very hard not to think about it. He didn't want to know what Tony would do next. He didn't want to have to decide how to respond, whether this was actually worth it or not._ _

__He didn't want to think about how he was responding to Tony's touch, how a treacherous part of his brain had started whispering to him, making him wonder if Tony's hands would be as clever touching him as they were in his workshop._ _

__"Say the word, and I'll stop," Tony offered, his voice gentle as he watched Steve. He looked tired, suddenly, his face set as though bracing himself against pain, and Steve had to close his eyes again; he couldn't face that._ _

__And then Steve heard himself saying, "Oh, no. I'm not letting you win."_ _

__At Tony's startled laugh, Steve opened his eyes again, and that tense look was gone from Tony's face, replaced by--delight? Was that what that was?_ _

__Steve wasn't used to anyone looking at him like that. Not since before the war, not since Gail. Jan didn't look at him like that--maybe she would, given time, but not yet._ _

__And for all that Steve knew this was a terrible idea--playing along for a while had made a sort of sense, unconventional as it was, but continuing the act? Going this far with it, just to be right? That was beyond absurd. It was wrong. It would make Tony think that he wanted this, and he…_ _

__He didn't. He couldn't. He wasn't like that. He'd never…_ _

__But Tony was still laughing, murmuring, "If that's how you want to play it, sweetheart, then that's what you'll get," and pressing a kiss--soft, this time, almost fond?--to the corner of Steve's mouth._ _

__"Remember," he went on, "one word, and I _will_ stop. I promise. No hard feelings." He rubbed his palm over the growing hardness in Steve's trousers, and chuckled. "No pun intended."_ _

__Tony slid off the couch then; Steve didn't quite catch on to what he was doing at first, but then, when he saw Tony kneeling on the floor in front of him, he realized what Tony had planned. "Tony, you can't--"_ _

__"You don't want me to?"_ _

__He hadn't said that. He couldn't say that, because no matter how wrong it was, he couldn't make himself lie that boldly. It didn't count, he told himself; he was calling Tony's bluff, and it was all right if Steve enjoyed it, because it wasn't as though Tony would be doing anything to Steve that a woman couldn't do. Not that--no matter how much he tried to picture Jan like this, on her knees in front of the couch in her apartment--he was having any success imagining that Tony was a woman._ _

__"You can't possibly want to," he said, instead._ _

__Tony licked his lips, and Steve found himself unaccountably fascinated by the swipe of Tony's tongue over his upper lip. "Can't I?" He bent down, nuzzling at the outline of Steve's cock in his pants, and Steve clenched his jaw to fight back a moan._ _

__"I do want to," Tony confirmed. "You really need to let go of the idea that I'm bluffing. No, it doesn't mean anything when I call people 'darling'--but that doesn't mean that I'm appalled that anyone might think I'm not straight." He was mouthing at Steve's cock through the fabric now, sending shivers through Steve's body, and now Steve couldn't stay quiet._ _

__"I want to," Tony repeated, "and you want me to, don't you, sweetheart?" He rubbed Steve's thigh gently, like someone soothing a frightened animal. That was almost funny to Steve. Almost, because right now, Steve didn't think he could find anything funny._ _

__Steve didn't answer, because how could he? He wasn't a fairy. He'd never been--he'd never done anything with a man, not once. Not even in the army, even when, though it was strictly forbidden and incredibly dangerous, he'd known that some of his men had--to put it euphemistically--helped one another out from time to time. Because Steve wasn't like that. It wasn't right. Everyone knew that._ _

__Except this was the twenty-first century, and everyone didn't know that, apparently, not any more. Tony was, at heart, a good man, a man that Steve was, overall, proud to be working with, and Tony didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with it at all. Steve didn't know what to think about that. Morals were morals, certainly, but there were a lot of things that he knew his time had been wrong about, and it was just possible that this was one of them._ _

__Steve didn't have time to think about that now, though, because Tony was getting Steve's pants open, taking Steve's cock out, and if Steve was going to put a stop to this, it had to be now, or it would be too late. (Tony would stop, Steve believed that. But if Steve didn't stop him now, it wouldn't matter. Steve would have already let Tony do this, and he'd have to carry that with him forever.)_ _

__But Steve didn't say anything at all, just ran his hand through Tony's hair as Tony lowered his head and began to lick a stripe along the length of Steve's erection. If he said something, Tony would stop, and then this would never happen._ _

__And no matter what it said about Steve--and Steve couldn't think about that now--he didn't want that._ _

__He didn't really know what he'd expected from this, but it wasn't the way Tony seemed determined to drive him mad, swirling his tongue around the head of Steve's cock and lapping at the slit, but never taking it all the way into his mouth._ _

__"Tony, _please_ ," Steve choked out, the words coming through gritted teeth. _ _

__"Anything you want," Tony said. "I'd tell you all you have to do is ask, but you're not very good at asking for what you need, are you?" He smiled up at Steve then, his tongue darting over his lips again. "So you'll just have to say something if I get it wrong."_ _

__But since what he did was to take Steve into his mouth and begin to suck, all Steve could manage to say was, " _Tony_ ," again, which Tony took as encouragement. _ _

__He couldn't convince himself that it didn't matter who it was on his knees in front of him. It mattered. It was Tony, and even if Steve couldn't bring himself to say as much, he didn't just want this; he wanted it from Tony. He hadn't realized it until just now, but God help him, he did._ _

__He shouldn't have been surprised that Tony was good at this, either--would Tony have volunteered for something if he hadn't had confidence in his abilities? But Tony was good enough to have Steve moaning and shuddering and trying not to thrust deeper into Tony's mouth. Steve brought his hand up to rest lightly on Tony's head, stroking the short dark hair beneath his fingers, hoping that Tony would take it as encouragement since he couldn't seem to find the words._ _

__He'd never been very good with putting things into words, and even worse now that he couldn't shake the conviction that this was something he shouldn't be saying or even _thinking_ , but Tony seemed to understand, anyway._ _

__Soon enough, though, Steve found that he had to say something, as difficult as it was. "You should stop, Tony, I'm going to--" He broke off, then, as Tony simply sucked harder, his tongue working against the underside of Steve's cock, sending Steve over the edge with a hoarse cry that was loud enough to make him very glad they were alone in the house._ _

__By the time the blood stopped pounding in Steve's ears, Tony had pulled back, sitting back on his heels and wiping his mouth with a very satisfied expression._ _

___What have I done?_ Steve thought, as he let his hand fall back down to his side. It felt cold, now that it was no longer touching Tony, and that was ridiculous. It was perfectly warm in the room, and Steve tended to run hot anyway, since the serum. He wasn't cold._ _

__Tony got slowly to his feet, raising his arms over his head as he stretched. He'd been casually dressed under the robe, and his t-shirt lifted up with his movement, exposing a strip of pale stomach sprinkled with dark hairs. It drew Steve's attention, and that was dangerous, because it was only a short distance from that down to Tony's crotch and the clear evidence that he hadn't been unaffected by what he and Steve had just done. Steve didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to think about what they'd done, what that meant--for them, for Steve, for the _team_ , for heaven's sake. _ _

__The corner of Tony's mouth quirked upward; he'd obviously noticed where Steve was looking. "This would normally be the point where I'd suggest you might want to reciprocate. But given that you look about five seconds away from a panic attack, I think perhaps another time?"_ _

__Steve wasn't panicking. Steve _didn't_ panic; that wasn't his way. But he certainly had a lot to think about, and he couldn't--there was no way he'd be able to bring himself to do what Tony was suggesting. _ _

__"Another time?" he echoed. "You really think I'd--"_ _

__"Well, you'd certainly be welcome," Tony said. "For a drink, if that's all you want, but also for… anything else that might come to mind."_ _

__Too many things were coming to mind, things that Steve never, _ever_ let himself think about. Thoughts he'd trained himself never to have, thoughts he'd almost forgotten he'd ever had. "I need to go," he said, instead, getting quickly to his feet and getting himself back in order. Once his pants were zipped and buttoned, his belt buckled again, he felt more like himself, more on familiar ground. _ _

__"You don't have to," Tony said. "Stay to dinner, at least."_ _

__"No," he said, louder than he intended. "I have to go." Tony didn't understand. Apparently, Tony would never understand, because to him, this was nothing. Tony wasn't feeling the ground cracking open beneath his feet._ _

__"It's started to rain. At least let me call you a cab."_ _

__"I won't melt," Steve insisted._ _

__Tony didn't try to hide his disappointment, but he nodded. "If that's what you want."_ _

__He didn't wait for Tony to show him out, just started toward the front door, not letting himself turn around to see if Tony had followed. Not wanting to see whatever expression was on Tony's face._ _

__Once the heavy door had shut behind him, Steve started to feel a little better._ _

__No, not better, but more like himself, at least. And that had to be an improvement, didn't it?_ _

__Tony was right; it was raining, a steady downpour that made the chilly evening even colder. Steve realized he'd left his jacket behind, but he wasn't going back to get it, no matter how long his walk home was. He'd be fine. Wet, but fine._ _

__He'd go home, he thought, as he started walking. He'd go home, and he'd sort everything out in his mind, get himself back on the right track. This was some kind of strange aberration._ _

___And what if it isn't?_ he wondered, and then shook his head. If it wasn't, if he found himself wanting to spend time with Tony, well, he could cross that bridge when he came to it. _ _

__Then, suddenly, he was struck by a terrible thought. He was acting as if he had an infinite amount of time to make the decision, could take as long as he wanted to sort out what he wanted and what it meant._ _

__And where he was concerned, perhaps he was right. But he wasn't the only person involved in this, and he _knew_ that Tony didn't have forever, and not just in the "nobody lives forever" sense. Tony could have a few more years, or he could have months, and every day that Steve spent trying to convince himself that he didn't want this could be the last day that it might even be an option. _ _

__Steve found himself walking: not in the direction of home, or even in the direction of the nearest subway station, but around the block, unwilling to get too far away from Tony's house until he'd reached a decision._ _

__As he remembered the way Tony had looked at him, the way Tony had brightened when he'd opened the door to Steve, even though that had been well before he'd known how this evening was going to go. Could he really deny Tony that, for however long it could last?_ _

__(Could he really deny _himself_ the pleasure of seeing that look in Tony's eyes, and knowing he was the one who put it there? Steve still didn't want to confront that, at least not yet.) _ _

__He turned the corner again, Tony's house looming up before him, and suddenly Steve's decision was made for him. He realized he was running, up the street and up the steps, pressing the bell a few times in quick succession, then glancing toward the windows. Did he see a curtain twitch, or was that just his imagination?_ _

__Regardless, the door opened just a few moments later. "I hadn't expected to see you again," Tony said, and Steve found himself noticing that the smile Tony gave him, though faint, reached his eyes._ _

__"You did say any time."_ _

__"I did, didn't I?" Tony stepped aside to let Steve in. "Can I get you to stay to dinner this time, darling?"_ _

__Steve made himself smile back, despite his uncertainty. "Dinner," he said, pleased at how steady his voice sounded, "would be a good start."_ _

__Then, as the door closed behind them, he was struck by inspiration. "Actually," he corrected himself, "this would be a better start. Just so we're clear on things?"_ _

__And if the surprise in Tony's expression when Steve kissed him felt like a victory--well, Steve _had_ come here tonight planning to win. _ _

____

****

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Dreamwidth](https://mireille719.dreamwidth.org) or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/Mireille%22).


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